


Sick Day

by AquaWolfGirl



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Romance, Sick Trope, cuteness, hurt/comfort?, sick day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 23:17:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6133532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AquaWolfGirl/pseuds/AquaWolfGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A request from an anon on Tumblr: Rey's sick, and isn't used to the concept of a 'sick day'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sick Day

**Author's Note:**

> Woo, haven't written Damerey in a while. Maybe this was a step into the pool again? A little warm up to help get back into it? I'm not sure, but I definitely haven't stopped writing it!

Being sick on Jakku meant going to scavenge anyway, despite the fact that her throat felt as if it was full of the sand typically beneath her feet. Being sick meant that she climbed to the top of the wreckage despite the coughs wracking her small frame, crawling through small spaces even though she could feel her lungs protesting at the dusty air. 

Being sick was no excuse for not working. 

However, on the Resistance base, Rey learns very quickly that being sick actually is an excuse for not working. 

She’s barely able to stand on her feet as she trudges her way into the hangars, mentally ready to lend her scavenging and repairing skills even though she’s in no way physically able. She sniffles softly, and gives a weak smile to a pair of pilots walking by her. She doesn’t notice the concerned looks they give her, focused only on heading to salvage the X-wings that had been collected from Takodana. 

She’s settling her tool kit down and starting to attempt to unscrew a panel on its left side when she feels someone beside her. 

“Rey?” 

“Hey, Poe.” Or at least, that’s what she meant to say. Nothing comes out. She stops, swallows, and tries again. Her throat screams in protest, burning and scratching as she tries to force sound from it. But eventually she manages a weak “Hey,” barely a whisper. 

“Rey, you look like you haven’t slept in days,” Poe insists, coming around to stand between her and the fallen X-wing. He must’ve just finished his flight practice, still in his suit. She shrugs and shakes her head. 

“I’m fine.” They actually sound like words this time, much to her surprise, though they’re groggy and rough. 

Poe stares at her. She can’t decipher the look on his face; she’s never seen it before, not on anybody. She frowns in response, trying to gauge it. His brows are furrowed, eyes sad and mouth downturned. It’s a strange, sad kind of expression she can’t explain. 

He takes the tool from her hand and sets it in her box before bending and closing the lid. She opens her mouth to protest as he secures the latches, picking the box up before starting to walk away with the box under one arm and his helmet under the other. 

“Poe!” she tries to yell. It hurts immensely to try, and then she’s coughing, nearly doubled over. She can hear the clatter of his helmet and her box hitting the floor, and then there’s a broad hand on her back, soothing and guiding her through the coughing fit. 

“Yeah, you are so not working today,” he mutters as she finishes coughing. 

“I have to,” she insists, voice cracking twice over the course of just three words. “I have to work. What else would I do?” 

“Sleep!” Poe insists, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and starting to guide her out of the hangar. “Haven’t you ever had a sick day before?” 

“No,” she says simply as she tries to duck away from him. She manages to get out of his grip for a moment, only to have him grab at her wrist and tug her back a moment later. 

“Well, you’re taking one today,” he says, tone warning her not to argue. And honestly, she’s tired enough that she doesn’t want to. She lets herself be tugged back through the hallways of the base, Poe making a beeline for her room. 

He stands beside her as she types in her code, and then he’s pushing her into the room. “I’ll be right back, okay?” he asks. “Don’t you dare go back to the hangar. Or … anywhere else.” 

She nods weakly, settling down on the bed. She watches him leave, a bit confused as to where he was going. 

Then she hears beeping a few moments later, and knows exactly where he went. 

Rey smiles as BB-8 rolls through the doorway, rolling over to her and beeping worriedly. She shakes her head. “I’m fine, really.” The scratchiness of her voice, the aching in her head and the burning of her throat say otherwise. BB whines softly as Poe steps in a moment later, holding a metal cup with steam rising from it and what looks to be a shirt. 

He tosses the shirt at her. “Here, put that on,” he instructs. “It’ll be nice and comfy, all right?” He sets the cup on the bedside table. “Tea,” he tells her. “It’ll help your throat.” 

She takes the shirt he’d tossed her and holds it up. It’s a dark fabric, soft and worn-in. The sleeves are long, and the neck a bit wide from so many wears and washes. Poe turns his back to her as she slips out of her jumpsuit, setting the rough fabric aside in favor of the shirt. She tugs it over her head, smiling softly as the neck falls off of her shoulder and the sleeves go down to the joining of her thumb and forefinger. It’s his, she knows immediately, since it smells like the leather of his jacket and the oil of his X-wing. While her sleepclothes are comfortable, they’re a far cry from this. She pulls on the shorts she’d changed out of that morning to go beneath the shirt, and lets BB beep at Poe, telling him that she’d finished. 

He turns back, gaze softening when he sees her in his shirt. “Good. Now, you’ve never had a sick day on Jakku, have you?” 

Rey shakes her head, opting not to speak in favor of giving her throat a break. 

“Liquids-” Poe instructs, pointing to the tea. “And rest. I can get some meds from the sickbay, if you want me to.” 

She shakes her head again. She doesn’t need medicine, not yet. It’s not nearly as bad as it could be - she knows from experience. “I’m fine,” she tries, but it turns into another coughing fit. 

Rey can feel the mattress dipping with Poe’s weight as he settles beside her, rubbing at her back as she surrenders to the fit and just coughs with abandon. His hand is warm, near hot, on her back, and the comforting touch is strange to her. When she finishes, and looks up at him with bleary eyes, he has that same odd expression he’d had back in the hangar. 

He pushes at her shoulders. “C’mon, lie back,” he orders, and she goes without a fight. He pulls the blankets up to her shoulders, despite her weak protest that she can do it herself, thanks. He pushes her hair back from her face, reaching around her head to release it from its three buns. He sets each tie on her bedside table before running his fingers through her loose hair. “It’s okay to be sick, you know.” 

She just hums, neutral. She could be working, she knows. She could be there salvaging parts and directing them back to the repairers for replacement parts, but she can’t deny that her bed feels warm and welcoming. And Poe sitting on the edge of it isn’t exactly a bad thing either, especially not when he’s stroking her cheek and her hair and sometimes letting his fingers trail down her neck to her bare shoulder. 

“I want you to rest,” he insists. She understands suddenly why he’s one of the most respected and loved men on base; despite it being an order, she feels inclined to follow. She nods weakly.

“And drink the tea when it cools down a bit, okay?” She nods again. 

“Good.” 

He leans forward, that damned expression still on his face. She freezes in surprise, closing her eyes instinctively as he bends and presses a soft kiss to her forehead, then to her cheek. She leans into his lips, the touch cool and comforting, before he pulls away. 

“I have to go speak to the General, but then I’ll be back to check on you, okay?” he asks, smiling down at her. He leans forward and presses one more kiss to her cheek as she hums an affirmative, already slipping back towards sleep. “I’ll be back soon. And I want to see you either sleeping or drinking when I get back.” 

“No promises,” she teases, voice cracking again. He rolls his eyes and looks towards BB. 

“Make sure she doesn’t escape?” he asks. The droid beeps an affirmative, imitating Finn once again and using its lighter to give a thumbs up. 

Poe snorts and stands, patting Rey’s knee gently. “Remember. Sleeping or drinking.” 

“Yes, sir,” Rey says weakly, smiling as Poe leaves with waves to her and BB. 

It hits her, suddenly, as she’s just on the edge of sleep, what the expression was. She blinks in the darkness of her room, staring at the droid who’s watching over her vigilantly. 

Worry.

She settles down, pulling the blanket up to her nose to hide her weak smile. No one’s ever been concerned for her before, aside from Finn. She can’t bring herself to hate the feeling, despite how strange and foreign it is. 

If this is what being sick meant - borrowed shirts and hot tea and forehead kisses and concerned Poe - well, maybe she didn’t mind being so sick after all.


End file.
